On being an American in Europe
I have to hear conversations in American around me in order to nourish myself. Writers hear interior conversations, of course, but they require outside nourishment.
On Hollywood
We managed to avoid most of the cocktail parties, because every time I went to one I offended someone.
At the first one, I was introduced to John Wayne, and asked him, “Excuse me, but what kind of work do you do out here?”
Then at another party I was introduced to a lovely, dark-haired young woman to whom I spoke French. I told her she had a wonderful Parisian accent. “Parisian, hell!” she said. “It’s Roman French.” It turned out to be Gina.1
On Berlin and Paris
Those places are behind me. When you are finished with a place it no longer inspires you. I never liked Paris much, and I like it less now. It’s too noisy and messy. We don’t like nightlife and clubs.
* “Nabokov and the Innocent European,” Weekly Tribune [Geneva, Switzerland], Jan. 28, 1966, p. 12.